After Hours
by GhostOfBambi
Summary: It was beautiful, just beautiful, but the best part would always, always be right after.


**After Hours**

She sat up on the bed and turned to face his prone form. She stretched out her legs, knees slightly bent, so that the tips of her toes were touching the headboard. The sheets had become a damp, tangled mess, but she managed to pull one from beneath her and drape it over her body, tucking it beneath her arms.

Modesty would always return to Lily in the aftermath, during the quieter moments. At the height of her desire she cared only to touch and taste and feel, for skin against skin, and to bring him closer, always closer. Her naked body would post no cause for inhibition. It was always after, when everything was calm, that shyness would prevail over passion. She would suddenly comprise of nothing but flaws. She would question her own beauty. She would blush when he looked at her. She would refuse his amused requests to let him see her, see _all_ of her. She would wonder how he could regard her exposed flesh with such tender admiration.

He suffered from no such insecurities. He lay on his back with one arm raised above his head, uncovered, unashamed. He was thin, and boasted few clearly defined muscles, except for in his upper arms. His hair was always chaos personified, but it was more tousled than usual after several long, blissful hours spent at the mercy of one another. His eyes were closed, but no matter, because Lily could picture their colour vividly, shades of browns and golds and greens. His glasses lay discarded on the floor where he had carelessly tossed them aside. His lips were stretched into a sleepy, satisfied smile. He seemed to radiate contentment. How wonderful it was, to know that _she_ was the reason why happiness pervaded him.

She was struck, as she sometimes was, by how beautiful he was.

This was something new that she would reflect on at times. His beauty, which grew more and more obvious to her with each passing day. He wasn't classically handsome, perhaps, but she had always liked his face. Always, even in the early days, when their relationship had been less than cordial. There had always been something about James Potter, something that drew her in. Messy hair, the colour of soot, the little dimple in his left cheek, the unbearable cockiness of manner. He had been attractive. He had been alluring. He had never been beautiful. When the day came that she had looked at him and realised that beautiful was everything he was, it had frightened her immensely. The knowledge had crashed down within her with the intensity of a hurricane.

Could a person become more beautiful, when you realised that you loved them?

"You look happy," she remarked, to which he opened his eyes. He could not see great distances without his glasses, but she knew that she was close enough for him to see her every detail without difficulty. His smile widened, and it was enough to elicit one from her.

"What're you doing with that thing over you?" he said, and tugged lazily at the sheet with which she had covered herself. Lily held on tight, and it did not budge. "Get it off, now."

"No, go away," she protested. "Just because you're an exhibitionist."

"You love it," he said, and closed his eyes again. "If you're going to keep that sheet on, I'm just going to fall asleep."

"_James_!" She nudged the side of his head with her toe; he cracked an eye open and she pouted. "No, that's not fair. Wake up. Talk to me."

"Talk to you about what?"

"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Just, pay attention to me, alright?"

"So needy," he said, and hoisted himself up so that he was leaning on his elbows. "I paid close attention to you all night." He waggled his eyebrows. "_Very_ close attention."

She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and tried to kick his head again, but with reflexes born of years of training, he caught her foot with one hand, and he was stronger than her. There was nothing to support her back and she fell backwards immediately, instinctively throwing down her hands to steady herself on the mattress. The sheet with which she had been hiding herself was immediately pulled away, exposing her from the waist up. He grinned, victorious, and lay back down again.

"Lovely," he remarked, and she scowled, reaching out to reclaim the sheet and cover her naked breasts. "Don't. Don't put it back on. And don't cover yourself with your arms, either. I want to look at you."

Simple statements like that always floored her, always made her blush and stutter. She wasn't as good at it as he was. She'd try to say those things and find her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. It sometimes bothered her. She'd wonder if perhaps he might deserve a girlfriend who was better able to tell him how sexy he was, and how badly she wanted him. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that he thought _her_ sexy, that he wanted _her_ so badly.

He was so honest, so open, found it so easy to adore her. He didn't seem to mind that she found it harder. He seemed happy just to be with her, to kiss her, and touch her, and let himself be touched. She was better at the physical part. The kissing, the touching, the sex. Those things came easier than words. With him she had explored avenues that she had once thought might disgust her, things she'd thought she'd never do – her protests that had been drowned out by her sheer desire to make him happy – things she came to find she loved, adored, thought of often, wanted so badly.

It had been awkward, the first time at Christmas, in his parents' old house, in his old bedroom. The first time for both of them. (That made her happy, made it special, made him hers, and only hers.) She hadn't expected it to happen so fast. (They had only been dating for six weeks, and she was sure that she had silently judged girls for that in the past.) She hadn't known, before him, before this, how little control she had, and how little it mattered. (She trusted him entirely, knew he wouldn't hurt her, and it felt right, and that was the only important thing.) There had been some uncertainty, and nervous giggles, awkwardly placed limbs and embarrassed little fumbles. (It had been beautiful, and she had felt wonderful, and his arms had become the safest place in the world.) It got better the more they tried, and got better quickly. She never learned to control herself. She thought she never would, and it was fine, really fine, because he couldn't do it either. (Sometimes they'd break apart in the middle, and giggle at one another, flushed and embarrassed, caught off guard by how far they allowed themselves to get carried away.)

They had gone back to school and there hadn't been much opportunity. He shared a dormitory with three other boys. It would have been rude and inconsiderate. Sirius had made a game out of trying to catch them. It didn't stop them completely, but certainly held them back. She had still spent most nights in his bed - just to sleep - encased in his arms, warmed by his body, surrounded by the smell of him. The boys had called her the Fifth One. James would moan when she didn't come upstairs at night. She had slowly become dependant.

Leaving school forever had almost been a relief.

James's parents, gone a while, had seemed to linger in the house. He didn't liked it, he said, couldn't live with it, he said, but didn't want to let go completely. He'd taken the little house in Godric's Hollow, just three miles away. It was smaller and less glamourous, and it suited him just fine. She had taken to haunting the place like a ghost. It might as well have been her home, as well.

It was her home, unofficially. She knew it. So did he.

"I don't get why you do this," she mumbled, and kept her arms by her side, even though she wanted so badly to raise them. "Look at me when I'm… when I'm like this."

"Let me put it this way," he said, always ready to get to the point. "You like looking at me naked, yeah?"

She blushed. She always blushed. "Yes."

"And why do you like looking at me naked?"

"Because…" She faltered. Because he was beautiful. Because he was desirable. Because he had somehow come to mean everything to her. Because he was her boyfriend. Because she loved him. Because he was James. "Because nobody else gets to."

"There you go. That's your reason. And then," he trailed off, eyes skimming over her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach. "You know what? I think I'll be ready for another go in a minute."

"Pervert!" she accused, but she was delighted. He grinned stupidly at her. She'd made him happy again.

"All right, then. C'mere," he said, patting the bed beside him. She lunged forward and he caught her, and then he was cradling her in his arms. "I'll cuddle you if it shuts you up."

"You love cuddles," she reminded him, and pressed her lips against his neck.

"Mmmmm," he agreed, perhaps, trailing a finger up and down her back. "Do that again."

She obliged, and there was a rumbling noise in the back of his throat that made her shudder. "You're sensitive there."

He pressed his hand flat against the small of her back. "_Very_."

"I think this is my favourite part, you know," she began, hesitantly. "The cuddling afterwards. I mean, the sex is… the sex is -"

"Oh my God, your skin is so _smooth_."

"I'm so – are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, I am. You're just – Merlin, I was giving you a compliment, Evans."

"I was trying to share something deep and meaningful," she complained, lifting her head to scowl at him. His lips quirked upwards; he was trying not to laugh. "And you interrupt me with some inane comment about the softness of my skin."

"Deep and meaningful, eh?" His eyes shone with mirth. "I'm listening, go on."

"No, you've ruined it now," she said, and laid down her head again. "That's the last time I'm kissing you there."

"If you tell me," he began, and his hand slid downwards, slipping between her legs. "I'll kiss you down _here_."

She shuddered again, and wriggled away. Moving his fingers another inch would demonstrate just how much magic his words had already worked on her. "You can't distract me with sex every time I'm pissed off at you, you know."

"Why not?" he asked, genuinely curious. He frowned and reached out for her, and she shuffled further away from him on the bed. "You like it. I like it. Come back over here."

"No," she protested, but it was too late, he'd rolled on top of her and had her trapped. "Get off me, Potter, I need to go to the toilet."

"No you don't," he said, and kissed her lips, once, twice, three times, four times, so many times she lost count, until the same lips were turned upwards, and she was giggling into his mouth.

"No I don't."

"I did something brilliant today," he said, after a while, after a time spent immersed in blissful, languid kisses. He rolled onto his back once more, taking her with him. Her hair fell forwards and tickled his nose. "You'll be happy about it."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah really," he said, beaming. "I cleared out half of the wardrobe."

A pause. "Um. Yeah. I'm ecstatic."

"I cleared out the wardrobe so that you could put your _clothes_ in it, idiot."

"Oh," she said, and then comprehension came, and she ecstatic wasn't the word. Ecstatic wasn't nearly enough. Happiness exploded within her like fire. "_Oh_!"

"I assume you want to put your clothes in the wardrobe, yes?"

"Yes!" She was giggling. She must have been glowing. "Yes please."

"Because you practically live here anyway," he continued. "Might as well make it official."

"Oh, oh _God_," she said, with wide eyes. "We can go food shopping together!"

"Supermarket's right around the corner."

"And split bills?"

"If you like, but my parents left -"

"And have arguments when you leave your socks all over the floor?!"

"You're the one who leaves socks over the floor," he pointed out, laughing at her enthusiasm. "And it never bothers me. I'm not going to start tossing mine around because of some weird domestic fantasy you're having."

"Shut up," she said, and buried her face in his chest. "I'm just excited. It'll be like we're, you know…"

"A real couple?"

"We already _are_ a real couple," she faltered. "But yes. That."

"I'm glad you're so amenable to this, Evans," he said, and his hands were idly exploring parts of her that nobody else had ever, or would ever, and that was just the way she wanted it. "It'll make it a lot easier when I ask you to marry me."

Caught between laughing and sobbing, she made a soft, indecipherable noise, kissed his chest. "Do you know what Mary said to me the other day?"

"What?" He tickled the back of her thigh, and she jerked involuntarily. "Don't tell me she got in there and proposed before me?"

"Aside from that, which I said yes to, by the way. You're invited." He giggled, actually giggled. He sometimes said she made him giddy. "She said that in every relationship, there's one person punching above their weight, and one person settling for less."

His brow furrowed. "And she thinks you're the person settling for less?"

"I don't know what she thinks," she answered, honestly. "But sometimes, I think I might be the person punching."

"Oh," he said, and said no more. She peeped at him through her hair. He was frowning.

"You're annoyed?"

"No."

"You're angry?"

"No."

"I've pissed you off, haven't I?"

"Lily, shut up, you haven't," he said, and laughed at her. "I was just thinking, that's all. I don't think you're right," he added. "And I definitely don't think Mary's right."

"Why's that?"

"Because if both of us think we're punching," he said. "Then neither of us are settling."

"Oh." Very softly. She smiled. She sort of felt like crying. "You really think you're punching?"

"I'll always think I'm punching."

"You're not."

"I know."

"And I'm not."

"Definitely not."

"And we're moving in together."

"First thing in the morning."

"And you love me."

"I love you."

"And I love you."

"You do."

"And I'm ready for another go now."

"Brilliant," he said, and she was on her back again, and it was beautiful, just beautiful, but the best part would always, _always_ be right after. "Lift that leg up, nice and high, there's a good girl."

"Romantic, Potter."

"Aren't I just?"


End file.
